


Wherever He May Lead

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill. Enjolras arranges a threesome because he thinks his sub Grantaire is so beautiful during sex and he wants to watch. Grantaire is reluctant but keeps it  a secret because he is so desperate to please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire breathes in a deep sigh as Enjolras moves around him, untying the ropes that have held him face-down to the bed. Enjolras’ hands are gentle and careful, brushing over the few places where there are marks left in the other boy’s skin.

“I have not hurt you?” 

Grantaire stretches slightly, all sensation returned to his limbs, and smiles. “No, sir.”

“You are lovely,” Enjolras tells him, his eyes soft. Grantaire basks in the heat of Enjolras’ glance, feeling still safe, protected, and treasured. It is a good deal he strikes for this, when all he has to offer in return is his self, body, and soul. Enjolras reaches up to stroke Grantaire’s hair, sitting down on the bed and urging Grantaire’s head onto his lap. “So lovely when I’m inside you.” 

Grantaire blushes. He never would have expected, before this, that Enjolras would be the one with a foul mouth and fouler mind, saying things dirty enough to embarrass even Grantaire, but there are many surprising things about Enjolras he’s discovered rather recently.

“There is something I’d like to discuss with you, my heart. To ask of you.”

Grantaire’s heart quickens. He said, once, that he would do his friend, the man who was then his untouchable Apollo, any service he pleased. He did not expect to ever get the chance to render so many, or to take so much joy in doing so. “Anything,” Grantaire breathes.

“How many times must I ask you not to say that? You may always tell me no.”

This is Enjolras the revolutionary, Enjolras the man who cannot leave his convictions at the door on his way to bed. “I know,” Grantaire grumbles, annoyed more than anything else—an annoyance that fades as Enjolras returns to stroking his hair, gently soothing him back into the strange, hazy happiness that comes when he is with Enjolras in this way.

“I enjoy watching you. During the act.” 

Grantaire waits. In this state of mind he feels terribly patient with Enjolras’ awkwardness..

“It is difficult, however, to fully enjoy this. Looking on you. I wish sometimes I could simply watch as you give and receive pleasure.”

Grantaire waits again, for an explanation of why he’s being told this.

“I want to bring another into our bed. For just one night. Someone known to both of us, someone I can trust not to take advantage of you, someone who wants no more than a single night. I want to watch you give another pleasure, only as I direct you to, and to watch you in the beauty of your bliss.” Enjolras looks at him intently. “Do you consent to this?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire says, without thinking. If he thinks he won’t be able to make himself agree. If he thinks he’ll think about how he thought this was special, how he thought this was the one thing he alone could give to Enjolras. He would consider how sacred these times are to him, let alone to the other, and how frightening the thought of another seeing him in his vulnerable state truly is. He would be forced to admit how worthless, how unconsidered, the mere suggestion makes him feel. 

But he does not want to displease. He is, after all, a drunken cretin with little to offer the likes of Enjolras. He is foolish and cynical and alone in the world except for this man, his only guiding purpose.

And he has long since decided to go wherever Enjolras leads him, whether he likes it or no. 

 

 

 

Grantaire spends most of the next day trembling and nervous. There’s every chance it’ll never actually happen, he tells himself. Enjolras has that filthy imagination he’s just beginning to explore, maybe he’ll just decide not to do it. 

Grantaire really hopes so. He won’t tell Enjolras no, he can’t. He can’t send Enjolras away wanting anything it is in his power to give. Grantaire has little enough. He is ugly where Enjolras is beautiful. He is empty where Enjolras is passionate. He is weak where Enjolras is strong.

He never thought he would come close enough to the man he loved and worshipped—truly worshipped—for so long. Now they are lovers, and more. When Grantaire is good, after they’ve made love (but he promised himself he’d stop indulging in that foolish phrase, he ought to say after Enjolras has used him) sometimes Enjolras can be so gentle. All his fire softens to a comforting warmth. His hands are careful, his words kind.

Enjolras had called Grantaire his heart. The thought stirs joy in Grantaire, even as he knows it is untrue. In reality, Grantaire is Enjolras’ toy, his whore, his slave—and willingly so. And to Grantaire, Enjolras is—Grantaire cannot properly say Enjolras is his anything. For no part of Enjolras belongs to Grantaire. But Enjolras is Grantaire’s soul. His purpose. His heart, yes, but so much more. His guiding light. His earthly angel. His only reason to live.

So he will do as he’s told, because if he can please Enjolras in any small way, no matter what it costs him, maybe he can buy a few more moments in his god’s favor.

Maybe he will even please enough to be held close in Enjolras’ arms and whispered kind soft words to, as he was last night. 

He thinks of himself a few short months ago, before Enjolras had ever touched him. He would have gone on his knees from man to man through all of Paris for a taste of Enjolras’ approval. He would have pleasured a thousand strangers, let any man who asked have him. Has he grown so greedy so quickly, that he will not admit one man into his bed at Enjolras’ request?

He has not. He has not. 

Yet he cannot deny that the thought of it makes him want to weep. He had thought their moments abed were treasured by Enjolras as well. Not in the same way and not to the same degree, of course not, but to some degree, he thought it mattered.

Clearly, he was wrong. Grantaire is nothing to Enjolras but the willing hole Enjolras named him in bed last night. And if Enjolras is all the world to Grantaire, then his estimation must be the only thing that matters, and so Grantaire is nothing more than a source for his beloved to find pleasure—carnal and even cruel, but pleasure still.

If that is his purpose, he must not deny it.

 

That night, Courfreyrac arrives with good news. He’s won the support of a group of factory workers in the city. They have promised to rise when the time comes, and will spread the word to their husbands, children, and friends. There is celebrating, drinking, cheers. Then the crowd dissipates. Courfreyrac moves to leave, and Enjolras raises a hand to stay him. “A moment, my friend.”

Courfreyrac pauses at the door. 

“You have done very well today.”

“Thank you.”

Enjolras smiles. “I would like to see you rewarded. For your good work.” His eyes flick over to Grantaire, sitting on his accustomed stool in the corner.

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras calls. Without thinking, drawn in by his voice, Grantaire stands and walks over to the two. “Ask him,” Enjolras orders, his voice almost cold.

Grantaire’s throat closes up, and his heart pounds. He thought he could do this. He thought he could let this happen to him. But to ask for it, to be forced to—and with this being the context. Being made to give his body over as a tool to motivate the revolutionaries. That most vulnerable and private side of himself, being shared around as Enjolras pleases, to be given over as though he were truly a thing, incapable of sensing or feeling, incapable of pain… 

And yet he must do it. “Enjolras wishes… it is…” Grantaire closes his eyes, and Enjolras leans in toward him, placing a gentle hand on Grantaire’s waist. The touch gives him strength, and reminds him why this is necessary. He cannot allow himself to lose this. “Come home with us. And fuck me.”

“I will watch. If you agree,” Enjolras clarifies. “To the act, not my presence. The latter is not negotiable.”

Courfreyrac looks at both of them. His eyes study Grantaire’s face for a long time, as though somehow reading his reluctance there… or perhaps just examining his prize. “This is very unexpected.”

“I am aware. But I know you have had male lovers before, and I thought you would not be opposed,” Enjolras explains.

“I am not opposed.”

“Do you agree, then?”

Grantaire breathes in, shaky, hardly daring to hope—

“Yes,” Courfreyrac says. “I think I do.” 

Grantaire closes his eyes, trying desperately to calm himself. He dares even to lean back against Enjolras’ hand, letting his lover’s touch calm him a little more. Enjolras leaves his hand around Grantaire’s waist as he leads them all three out the door and down the stairs. 

 

 

 

Grantaire pliantly allows himself to be undressed and pushed onto the bed by Enjolras’ efficient, almost cold hands. He lies there, on his back, waiting, trying to summon up thoughts that will allow him to become aroused.

Enjolras pulls up a chair in the corner, scooting it a few inches nearer the bed so he has a view, and that allows Grantaire’s body, at least, to react. He can feel Enjolras’ eyes on him, as hot as his hands were cold, wanting. It feels as though all he wants is Grantaire. As though he cares enough to be jealous and possessive, even if Courfreyrac’s very presence belies that.

“You can do as you please, unless he tells you to stop, at which point you will cease touching him, clothe yourself, and depart as quickly as possible,” Enjolras instructs.

“Of course,” Courfreyrac answers, starting to strip off his own shirt. Grantaire tenses. So this is to be a sort of test, then. If he can endure, if he can remain silent, unprotesting, no matter what, he will have his reward. That is, the only one that matters to him—he will have pleased Enjolras.

He feels the heavy weight of Courfreyrac settling on the bed atop him, then the touch of his hands. They are calloused, not soft as Enjolras’, but Courfreyrac’s touch is far more tentative than Enjolras’ ever is. Courfreyrac leans in close and kisses his lips, and Grantaire tries to relax. Enjolras so rarely allows Grantaire a kiss from his own perfect lips. He ought to enjoy the opportunity, but he would rather be debased and used by Enjolras than made reverent love to by any other creature on earth.

Courfreyrac’s gentle lips move down to his neck. Grantaire tenses. He doesn’t want to wear someone else’s marks, not when it is Enjolras to whom he belongs. Luckily, it only lasts a moment before Courfreyrac is leaning back on his heels to look at Enjolras. “Oil?”

“Here.” Enjolras withdraws a stoppered jub from beneath the chair. “I thought you might need this.”

“Not at this exact moment. But soon.” He takes the jug from Enjolras, resting it on the ground nearer the bed. “I want to be able to focus on your lovely boy here.”

“He is lovely, isn’t he?” Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire bites his lip. That, he can enjoy. Being praised by his beloved, even if it sounds as though he were a particularly stylish outfit or delectable pastry or impressive still life, he always enjoys. 

“You’re very lucky,” Courfreyrac agrees, tracing his fingertips down Grantaire’s bare skin.

Enjolras replies, warmly and surprisingly, “I am. He is beautiful.” Grantaire cannot restrain his smile, nor the blush that colors his cheeks. “Especially with that look on his face.” Enjolras’ warm tone turns mocking, or at least so it sounds to Grantaire’s ears. “Or when he’s being fucked.”

Grantaire’s cock twitches, aroused by the knowledge that Enjolras is enjoying this, that he is managing to please, and Courfreyrac repeats the motion of his hand, down Grantaire’s chest and across his nipple. He lowers his mouth to lick at the sensitive spots, then traces down Grantaire’s belly with his tongue. He stops shy of Grantaire’s now-erect cock, pulling away to kiss back up his chest, his lips touching every few inches.

Grantaire is frankly rather bored by it. He’s used to the rough way Enjolras treats him, in fact he enjoys it. Being pushed around, tied down, spanked and scratched and taken, being made for once to feel passion—that’s what he enjoys. 

This he can only tolerate. 

There is a brief moment where Grantaire sees Courfeyrac looking at him, a speculative, almost worried expression on his face. It passes, though, and the other man reaches for the oil beside the bed. 

He slicks his fingers, two to start, and eases them into Grantaire’s body. It burns a little, less than the rough treatment Grantaire is accustomed to. He focuses on relaxing, on forcing his body to accept the intrusion. He must not fight this.

Courfreyrac fingers him carefully, crooking and then straightening his fingers until Grantaire is open enough for Courfreyrac to slide inside. As he does, Grantaire finally permits himself to look up at Enjolras, to see whether or not his Apollo is pleased with him. 

Enjolras is watching, enraptured. His full lips are parted slightly, his eyes full of burning intenstiy Grantaire has only seen him have for the idea of revolution before this moment. He is staring at Grantaire, eyes fixed not to his body where Courfreyrac is beginning to move, slow and easy, inside him, but on his face. He looks at Grantaire the way Grantaire so often watches him—as though he is in a state of worship, as though he is seeing the very face of God. 

And so Grantaire looks at Enjolras, and Enjolras looks back at Grantaire, and as their eyes meet Grantaire feels every bit the beauty Enjolras has called him. It does not matter that he is being treated as a thing to be passed from man to man, it does not matter that Enjolras cares so little for him that he would use Grantaire and then give him away, it does not matter that Courfreyrac is moving at a slow, even pace inside Grantaire at this very moment. All that matters is the blazing heat in Enjolras’ eyes.

Courfreyrac wraps a hand around Grantaire’s erection, beginning to stroke in time with his thrusts. Grantaire moves with him, trying still to please. He wants to do well, wants to please Courfreyrac now, wants to make everyone happy. He wants to do whatever it takes to keep that look in Grantaire’s eyes. 

“Just as beautiful as I said. Gorgeous in his pleasure,” Enjolras comments, and Grantaire flushes and jerks his hips forward. “Sordid and lovely. A creature of such contradictions.”

Courfreyrac’s mouth is back on Grantaire’s, blocking Grantaire’s view of Enjolras. Grantaire dares not shift away, but he can tell when Courfreyrac realizes his hesitation, and pulls away. He does, however, let out a quiet moan as he realizes Grantaire’s reluctance, beginning to move a little faster inside him. Grantaire reaches a hand up to squeeze Courfreyrac’s arm, reassuring him. He doesn’t want his friend to think he’s done anything amiss. 

After all, Grantaire could have said no.

Courfreyrac thrusts harder and harder into him, and Grantaire looks back up at Enjolras, who is watching eagerly, one hand idly stroking a prominent bulge in his pants. Enjolras notices Grantaire watching, and smiles almost fondly at him. “Look how lovely you are. You’ve made me so hard, my heart.”

Hearing himself praised, endeared, and declared useful, Grantaire can’t help himself. He presses his erection into Courfreyrac’s hand, cries out Enjolras’ name, and comes. It is not the pleasure he’d known the night before, the sweet release into joy. It feels dirty and wrong to be made to come at another’s hand, even if it is for his beloved’s sake.

Courfreyrac smiles, as though he’s won some sort of victory, and continues thrusting into him. Luckily, it is not long after that Courfreyrac hisses and his movemement stops. He collapses against the bed, heavily, and Grantaire sighs.

At last, it’s over.

Grantaire is almost blissfully relaxed as Enjolras orders him up and onto his knees. He crawls over to the chair, leaving Courfreyrac lounging, pleased, on the bed, and dares one last look up at Enjolras. "May I?" he asks.

"Yes." Enjolras pulls out his hard cock, and Grantaire, ever eager to please, leans forward and begins to suck. Enjolras wraps a hand in Grantaire’s hair, forcing him down further and further, and within a few brief seconds has come down Grantaire’s throat. Grantaire chokes as he swallows, but it’s all right, for soon Enjolras is easing Grantaire’s head onto his knee, allowing him rest, stroking his hair like a beloved pet, and Grantaire is content.

 

 

 

Grantaire is still kneeling on the floor when the door slams shut, a classic sign that a distressed, patriotic, or otherwise excited Enjolras is about to enter. He looks up to see Enjolras staring at him. “R.”

“Master.” 

Usually the title provokes either an eager moan or a lecture on the wrongs of slavery, depending on Enjolras’ mood. This time, it gets him only the same stare. “Courfreyrac spoke to me before he left.” Enjolras is just returning from walking him out.

Grantaire looks down at the floor. “What about?”

“He is feeling quite guilty. About our encounter.”

“He has nothing to feel guilt about.”

“Really? Because the exact wording he used, Grantaire—“ Oh, God, Enjolras is angry, he’s angry with Grantaire, and all he wanted to do was please, he can’t help flinching at the thought—“The exact wording he used was that he fears he raped you.”

“You asked. I consented. He is mistaken to feel guilt, and you are foolish if you share his feeling,” Grantaire replies, hoping the words will bite enough that Enjolras will leave him alone.

“But did you want it?” Enjolras says, and of course he can’t simply leave well enough alone.

“I wanted to please you, Enjolras, as I always do. I wish to render you any service I can, no matter how trivial to you or how hard to me.”

“So you didn’t want to.”

This is the problem, Grantaire muses, with fucking an idealist. Everything is black and white. “I wanted to please you, I knew this would, I was happy to do it for your sake. I’d do it again if you asked.”

“That is not the question, Grantaire.” 

Grantaire shivers at the sharpness in his voice, cowed into honesty. “I—I only wanted—“ He sounds so small, so pathetic. “I only wanted you to be—to be happy with me.”

“That’s still not the question.” Enjolras strides over to him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to his feet. “Did you want me to let someone else fuck you?” he growls, and Grantaire drops his eyes.

He can’t lie, not to that voice. He cannot help the truth that escapes. “No, sir,” he answers meekly, expecting to be pushed away in disgust. He doesn’t know what he did wrong but he knows Enjolras is angry with him, and he anticipates the worst punishment of all—rejection.

The last thing in the world he expects is for Enjolras to pull him in closer and wrap his arms around Grantaire’s waist.

“Oh, my poor darling,” Enjolras murmurs softly. He rubs Grantaire’s back gently. “My poor little love.” 

Love? That cannot be right. That cannot truly be what Grantaire is hearing. This is a dream, it must be. 

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” Enjolras presses a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head. “My heart, I cannot even bear to ask for your forgiveness.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Grantaire insists. “I agreed to it.”

“Why?” Enjolras demands, his voice suddenly intense again. “Tell me the truth.”

“As I said. I wanted to please you.”

Enjolras sighs heavily. “Surely you know that what pleases me most is to have you safe and happy.”

“It is?” Grantaire says, rather stupidly. 

Enjolras draws in a sharp breath, almost a sob, and pulls back to look into Grantaire’s eyes. He brushes a lock of stray hair off his forehead, and looks at him, his whole face twisted with emotion. “What,” he wonders aloud, “damage have I wrought to you? What have I done?”

“Nothing I didn’t agree to, how many times do I have to say it-“ Grantaire is tired of humiliating himself with the words. Tired of confessing again and again just how he would debase himself for a speck of Enjolras’ affection.

“I don’t mean just that. All along. I have taken advantage of you.”

“Of a willing and enthusiastic me. I would rather have the specks of attention you spare than anything else.”

“Specks? You think all I give to you is specks?” Enjolras shakes his head. “I have misled you. And greatly misused you. I have allowed my private proclivities in bed to truly harm you.”

“I agreed-“

“Damnit, Grantaire, stop saying that!” Enjolras shouts. “Just… just… do not. I cannot bear… I wish to make you happy. I wish to lift you out of your misery, not force you deeper into it. I wish to give you pleasure, not to hurt you.”

Grantaire ducks his head. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you to come lie down on the bed with me. I want you to let me tell you a thousand thousand times how sorry I am, my precious one, my own love. I want to hold you close and treasure you and tell you how much I adore you until you believe me.”

Grantaire looks up, tentative. “A… adore?”

“Yes, my own. With all my heart.” Enjolras pauses. “Have I truly never told you how deeply I love you?”

“I was afraid,” Grantaire confesses. “If I did not… if I was not good enough, that you wouldn’t want me anymore.” 

Enjolras pulls him close again, his arms tightening around Grantaire. “I know, my love, I know.” He kisses Grantaire gently. “And you must know that I will not rest until you feel secure in my love. Until you know how precious you are to me.”

“Sir—“ 

“On the bed,” Enjolras commands, and Grantaire is too overwhelmed to do anything but obey.

He all but collapses, and Enjolras follows him, pulling Grantaire close and into his arms.

“You will be silent,” Enjolras orders, and Grantaire nods. Enjolras curls up behind him, Grantaire’s back to Enjolras’ chest. Grantaire is humiliatingly aware of the fact that he is naked and Enjolras fully clothed. “And you will listen.” 

Enjolras carefully kisses the back of his neck. “I love you. I fear I have never said it so concisely before. I thought it a fact known between us, but it seems I was wrong. Nonetheless, it is the truth. I love you. I enjoy your desires to please. I am aroused by causing you physical pain, by restraining you, and by your willingness to accept these things for my sake. But I am disgusted by the idea of doing anyhing to you that you do not truly want. Utterly revolted. From now on, you will agree to nothing if it is solely for the sake of my pleasure. If you submit to something you do not desire, I will punish you.”

Grantaire shivers. He has been punished before, tied down and beaten with Enjolras’ belt because he appeared drunk at a meeting. It hurt badly, but afterwards Enjolras had held him close, just like this.

“And if you want something, you will ask for it. You will never again permit me to make you suffer in silence. I forbid it, is that understood? You may speak.”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire murmurs, his voice quiet.

“Good.” Enjolras kisses his neck. “You are so good, aren’t you? Such a precious gift you have given me, of yourself, and look how ill I have treated it.”

“Enjolras?”

“Yes, my heart?”

“I love you,” Grantaire confesses, his voice shaking. “I love you so much. I only want to be yours. To be close to you. To please you. In the hopes that someday you might care for me as well.” He closes his eyes, shamed.

Enjolras sighs, kissing the same spot, just over Grantaire’s pulse point. “I already do. I honor your submission, I return your love—I love you, Grantaire—and I cannot apologize enough for ever allowing you to think differently, for being so blind to the pain my own precious love was in.”

Grantaire does not think he will ever tire of hearing those words. “Do you?”

“Love you? Of course.” He kisses Grantaire’s ear. “I love you.” The back of his neck. “I love you.” His shoulder. “I love you. And I will say it again and again, my heart, until I have earned your forgiveness.” He sighs. “In the morning, when you are more yourself—more my rowdy friend, less my obedient treasure—we shall discuss this again, and at more length, and I hope you will be honest with me as we renegotiate this relationship.”

Grantaire feels a moment of fear. What if Enjolras rejects him now, of all times—

“So that we can both be happy.” He pauses. “And if you will still have me, Grantaire, I will be your only lover.”

“But you… you enjoyed watching? I was—“ He doesn’t want to say it, but he must, must make himself this pathetic—“good?”

Enjolras sighs. “I did. Forgive me, I enjoyed it, though the though makes me ill now. Grantaire, I watched you being raped—and God knows this isn’t Courfreyrac’s fault, so it is as though I raped you myself. But if I must say it, I will. I enjoyed watching you. You were—you are—very good. And I love you.”

Truly, Grantaire could listen to him say that forever. “And I you.” Grantaire hesitates. “Will you… will you still treat me… the way you did before? When we are in bed?”

“If you wish. Only if you wish.”

Grantaire hesitantly confesses, “I like it. But… after…”

“Yes?” Enjolras asks, patient.

“Would you be more like… like this?” Grantaire closes his eyes. “It feels so good. To have you this close. It feels like you care.”

“It feels to me,” Enjolras confesses, “as though my heart has been ripped in two. I have walked myself through a great fire tonight, my heart, and I have come out the other side seeing what I can hardly bear to see.”

“You are mixing your metaphors quite,” Grantaire teases.

“But I have also come out clean, of hypocrisy, of weakness, of the fear that showing you tenderness would weaken my spirit. I know now there is nothing weaker than a man who takes what he desires with no thought for those he may be hurting. I was such a one, and I will not rest until I have earned forgiveness… until I have changed.” Enjolras sighs heavily. “But this talk is all too heavy for tonight. Rest, my love. You need rest, for you have been through much pain tonight.”

“All worthwhile,” Grantaire says. “Because now I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Grantaire sighs happily, letting Enjolras hold him close. The rhythm of Enjolras’ beating hurt lulls him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By popular request, Enjolras' POV of the morning after. (I may still write more of this story, if anyone has other ideas).

Grantaire wakes up in Enjolras’ arms. This is not a frequent occurrence. In fact, it may be the first time Enjolras has stayed all night.

He regrets that deeply. He simply assumed that Grantaire knew Enjolras returned his love.

Clearly, that was a gross assumption, one he never should have made. He will do better. He will reassure this boy, every moment, every day, that he is precious, that he is loved. “Good morning, my heart.”

“Morning,” Grantaire murmurs.

Enjolras kisses his forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” Grantaire looks up at him and smiles. “Sir.”

“You don’t need to—“

“I like to.” Grantaire settles against his chest. “I like to feel like I’m yours.”

“You are.” Enjolras smooths back his hair. “If you want to be. We should talk, love.”

Grantaire looks away. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” Enjolras is firm. “Up, love.”

Enjolras fixes them both a cup of coffee and a quick breakfast of the fruit that was already on the counter, so they needn’t wait to long to begin. He can feel Grantaire’s anxiety, and no wonder. If his love had thought Enjolras might abandon him for refusing to submit his body to another, surely he must be frightened now. 

Soon, though, they’re sitting across from one another at the table. Grantaire is staring at him, wide-eyed, as if terrified. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire chokes, his voice shaking. “I tried… I didn’t want you to know. I tried to pretend. I’m sorry.”

“The only thing you’ve any right to blame yourself for is your failure to tell me the truth, Grantaire. That is the only thing I am upset with you about.”

“Are you going to leave me?” Grantaire asks, his voice blank.

“No. Not unless you ask me to go.”

“Do you promise? Do you swear?” Grantaire asks, suddenly almost angry. “Because… because that’s not right, otherwise. If you… if you take… Because I tried. I did this so you would stay with me, I did everything I could, and it isn’t right for you to change your mind and walk away now.”

“I promise,” Enjolras answers solemnly. “I will stay with you as long as you will have me.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, R.”

Grantaire sighs. “Thank you.”

“I ought to have said it to you months ago, my love. You have my apologies.” Enjolras will never be able to say it enough times. “But now you must tell me.” He hesitates, tentative suddenly. “Will you allow me to work for your forgiveness? Or would you rather I inflict myself on you no more?”

“I would do anything to have you stay,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras isn’t sure whether to be thrilled or terrified that it’s the honest truth. 

“Then I am yours as you are mine. The question, my heart, is where we go from here.”

Grantaire looks away. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you. Is that okay?”

“Yes. Of course it is.” It isn’t like Enjolras hasn’t already assured him this, but it makes sense that his lover might need more than one assurance after Enjolras had basically orchestrated his rape.

“And I like… this. That you care about my feelings.”

Enjolras has never hated anything so much as he loathes himself at that moment. That they could have been together this long, and that Grantaire could still honestly believe he doesn’t care… “I do. Grantaire, I didn’t… you must believe that I thought you were aware of how I felt. I have never done this before, I am not familiar with the practices of love, and I thought… I thought it would be obvious, R. How much I care for you.”

Grantaire smiles sadly. “Am I dreaming?”

“No. No, we have both woken up. And this is the morning that begins our future.” Enjolras forces himself to continue speaking. “Will I ever have your trust again?”

“Of course. You do.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “No, I mean, will you ever… will you ever be able to trust in me? That I care for you? Will you ever come to believe it?”

“Yes,” Grantaire says, no doubt at all in his voice. “I do not deny that it will take time, that it will be difficult. But I will, my love. I will.”

“You must be honest with me. You must never allow me to compel you to do anything you don’t wish again. Sexually or otherwise.”

“I will… I will try.” Grantaire’s voice breaks. “I don’t want to lie to you. It’s going to be hard, Enjolras. I want so badly to please you.”

“If… if you consent, I will allow… I mean, we can continue the sorts of...”

“You’ll still let me serve you?”

“Only if you want, R. And I mean only if you want it because it brings you happiness, not because you feel you must to please me, or even because… I am willing to use you, but I do not want you to believe you are only valued so far as you are useful.”

“I understand that. And I believe I can do it.” Grantaire meets Enjolras’ eyes, the truth clear in his glance. “I do enjoy it. It makes me feel good… and I believe it will even now that I know you care.”

The words land on Enjolras like a blow. He can’t resist it any longer, standing and crossing the table, sinking to his knees in front of the chair where Grantaire sits. Grantaire makes a soft noise of surprise and shifts, uncomfortable, but settles when Enjolras takes his hands and kisses them. “What I have done to you, my own love. What I have done. There are no words. I thought to share my life with you, you have given me such joy, and I have brought you only pain.”

“That’s not true,” Grantaire protests, and Enjolras looks up, surprised at his interruption. “It isn’t,” he continues, weakly. “I was never happy before I was with you. I mean , I was never… I never felt like I did last night. Never… low, never worthless, never…” Enjolras makes a soft sound of pain, and Grantaire winces. “But… you have to understand. I was never happy either. I never felt the way I do when you kiss me, when you touch me, when you care. And so… God, Enjolras, I would let last night happen again a thousand times if it meant I could get here. With you caring for me. I know you don’t like that but it’s the truth.”

“I know. I just wish you hadn’t had to. I wish I had seen your pain sooner.” Enjolras sighs and stands, kissing Grantaire’s lips softly as he does. “Tell me, love, what I can do better from now on.”

“I like… when you say I’m good. You could do that.”

“I could. I could start now, in fact.” Enjolras forces himself to smile, though his heart is heavy with remorse. “I could start by telling you that I’m so proud of you for being honest with me, my good boy.”

Grantaire breaks into a sunny smile. “Thank you.”

“Go on, love.”

“I like when you tell me what to do. I do. It makes me feel… I don’t know. I want to say less useless but I know you won’t like that. It makes me feel like I have a purpose and I love that about being with you.”

“I can continue doing so.” He knows how awkward that sounds, and tries to rephrase. “I enjoy it as well. I am glad you do.”

“I like being tied up. It feels good. And spanking and stuff. It honestly just feels good. Like physically.” Grantaire is blushing.

“Noted.” Enjolras smiles. “As far as my work goes…”

“I know it will always come first to you.”

“I’m thinking about taking a break,” Enjolras suggests. There is absolute shock on Grantaire’s face. “Listen. My dream is to right the wrongs of the world. I have commited a terrible wrong, here in my own home. I cannot go on to change the world until I change how I treat you.”

“You needn’t do that for me. I love your passion for your work. I do. I don’t mind…”

“I will at least take a rest for a few days. Allow Combeferre to lead. The work will go on, and I will go on doing it. But you deserve to be the most important thing.” Enjolras would do anything. He wants penance, he wants to be forgiven, he wants the desperate weight of guilt off his chest.

“No,” Grantaire says. “I will not… I would not be your tool for self-flagellation, Enjolras. If you care for me, you will do it because you want to. Not because it is a grand sacrifice to be forgiven for the wrong you think you’ve done me.”

“Very well.” Enjolras nods. “I will not. My work will go on. And I hope you will be at my side.”

“What are we going to tell Courfreyrac?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

Grantaire shrugs. “I don’t blame him. Not a bit. And I’d hate for him to feel guilty. So I guess.. we should tell him that. And… would you be willing to…” he hesitates. “To tell all the others that we, that you and I, are-“

“I’d be proud to,” Enjolras assures him. The thought of walking out into the world, his hand in Grantaire’s (only on deserted streets, of course, they are still two men who must keep their love a secret), the thought of accepting the congratulations of their friends, the thought of marking Grantaire as his with bites on his neck… 

“And we could… could you try to be a little less… during sex, you can be kind of… cold. And that’s nice, because I like you being in control, I do, but it makes me feel like…”

“Like I don’t care.”

Grantaire nods. “It’s embarrassing. That I’m such a desperate mess and you’re always so calm.”

“I’m not,” Enjolras confesses. “You turn me mad with lust as well. If I seem cold, it is an act, an act I will gladly cease if it distresses you. I will try to show you with word and deed, every second, how precious you are to me. How beautiful. How loved.”

Grantaire stares up at him, blinking back tears. “I love you.”

Enjolras pulls him to his feet and in for a long, slow kiss. “And I you, my darling.”

“Can we… can we go from here?” Grantaire suggests.

“I think so.” Enjolras squeezes him close.

“Good, because I hear someone has a revolution to plan.” It’s nearly noon, and they were supposed to meet their friends at the café at eleven. 

Enjolras smiles, and laces his fingers through Grantaire’s. “Only with you at my side, my love.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asks for probably the fifteenth time on their walk over.

“Yes, my love,” Enjolras answers, his voice calm. Patience is one of the virtues he has decided he must newly adopt. 

“You don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

“Nor do you, darling. If you change your mind, we needn’t tell anyone. And I will explain things to Courfreyrac later, if you don’t wish to discuss it with him.” Enjolras lifts Grantaire’s hand to his lips. “You need never do something that frightens you again.”

“I know.” Grantaire soaks up the touch, basking in it, basking in Enjolras’ affection, and Enjolras stops in the street, checks to make sure that no one’s eyes are on them, and then takes his arm. It’s not quite as intimate as holding his hand, anyone might excuse it as the innocent gesture of two friends, but it could equally be the movement of a lover. Grantaire smiles, proud to be acknowledged.

Enjolras leads the two of them on, toward the Café Musain. The others are already gathered there, having actually made the noontime meeting as it was announced.

It’s not like Enjolras to be late, so all eyes are on him as he enters. Nor is it like him to be with Grantaire, who always seems to be permanently installed in the back of the café (drowning in drink, some say. Waiting for Enjolras, is the truth). So the instant they cross the threshhold, all eyes are on them.

Grantaire looks at Enjolras and nods ever so slightly, giving him the cue to speak. And speak Enjolras does, hesitating only slightly before his friends. “Today, I come before you with a different matter than normal. A… more personal one.” He scans their faces, all rapt with attention. “I understand if this changes your opinion of me. Yet I know you are true men. I know each of you understands that we cannot fight who we are, and I know you are each my friends. And I would not ask you to follow me into battle, to follow me perhaps into death, and keep a secret from you.”

Combeferre sighs. “Out with it, Enjolras, some of us have classes to return to.”

“Grantaire and I are lovers,” Enjolras says, all in one breath. It’s not the hardest thing that he’s ever had to say, not even today. “As Orestes and Pylades were.” They are almost all students, they know well the pages of the Symposium, or Lucien’s praise of the two young lovers. It is not as though this is a concept none of them have ever considered… and yet it is nothing they have likely had to confront, except for Courfreyrac, who has bragged loudly of conquests of all sorts.

The first thing Enjolras notices is that Jehan has begin to weep. 

“What is it?” he asks, and the poet shakes his head tearily.

“It is too lovely. A true romance that must forever be forbidden! I shall write a sonnet in honor of your love. Or a dozen.”

Grantaire scoffs at that, but Enjolras can tell he’s secretly pleased. Combeferre stands to shake both of their hands. Bahorel and Feuilly buy a round of drinks for the lot of them. All in all, it becomes a celebration.

Grantaire looks more than a little overwhelmed, but he’s hardly had the most soothing of days, so Enjolras simply wraps an arm around his waist and steadies him. Grantaire turns into his side, grateful for the touch, grateful that they can now show this to their friends.

Little meeting is done that day. As the others return to their classes, Courfreyrac pulls the two of them aside.

“Grantaire,” he says, “it is to you I must speak. Yet I am sure you would not wish to be with me alone.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Grantaire assures him, though it’s true he would not want to be seperated from Enjolras for even a moment.

“I am glad. But I must apologize.”

“There’s no need.”

“I have wronged you.” Courfreyrac hesitates. “I could tell… I knew that you were not as willing as you professed to be, my friend. And I ignored that… Nay, I enjoyed it. Your reluctance. I need you to know that. I cannot lie to you.”

“I know,” Grantaire assures him. “It was… clear. I do not think I am the only one wronged here, Courf. You were used too.” Enjolras flinches, and Grantaire squeezes his hand in reassurance. “And Enjolras did not know any better because I was too cowardly to speak the truth. All in all, it’s a mess we’ve made, but it’s a mess we’ve all made together. I refuse to allow you—either of you—to wallow in guilt. I refuse to have my friend and my lover tear themselves away from me. I won’t have it.”

Courfreyrac smiles, tentatively. “If I must—“

“You must,” Grantaire insists.

“Then I thank you for your forgiveness, Grantaire.”

“And I am sorry for my part in it,” Enjolras adds. “I am as culpable as you… if not more. I may have been ignorant, but it was willfully so.”

“You did me no harm I did not do myself,” Courfreyrac assures him.

“Now we shall go on as though it never happened,” Grantaire informs them both.

Courfreyrac nods. 

“And I,” Enjolras murmurs into Grantaire’s ear, “will continue with a rather more intimate penance. If you permit it.”

Grantaire smiles. “I will see you tomorrow, Courfreyrac. And everything will be fine.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurs, and the two of them make their way home.

When they’re safely inside Enjolras’ room, the door shut, Enjolras lays a reverent hand on Grantaire’s arm, pulling him in close. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire sighs.

“Yes, my love?”

“I just… I just love you so much.” 

Enjolras secures his other arm around Grantaire, holding him tight to his chest. “And I you, my heart.” He kisses Grantaire’s forehead. “I wish to bring you pleasure. To make you feel loved.”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Grantaire teases.

Enjolras lifts up Grantaire’s chin, staring seriously at him. “It would please me, Grantaire, if you were to honestly tell me what you desire.”

“Is that a command?” Grantaire says, still teasing.

“Yes, if you would have it so.”

“Then I would have it so.” 

Enjolras runs his other hand soothingly across Grantaire’s back, waiting for him to give his answer. It takes him a while.

“I want you to… take me to bed. To lie with me. To tell me you love me, during… and to hold me after. That’s what I want.”

“Is it so hard to ask me for gentleness?”

“It is hard to ask,” Grantaire confesses, his voice quiet. “But it is not gentleness I ask for. I want your teeth on my neck as well, your marks on my skin. I want you to hold me down, to put me where you want me. I just want you to tell me I’ve done well.”

“You have. Just in asking.” Enjolras kisses him softly. “You have pleased me.” 

Grantaire sighs softly, and Enjolras smiles. He pulls away slightly, pulling off Grantaire’s shirt. Grantaire trembles at the touch of his hands, his body yielding at Enjolras’ touch. Enjolras strips off his own shirt as well, pressing his naked chest against Grantaire’s. 

“You are so lovely,” Enjolras murmurs. 

“You needn’t lie to me.”

Enjolras grips Grantaire’s hair, dragging his face back up, forcing him to meet his burning eyes. “Every inch of you is beautiful to me. Does anyone else’s opinion matter?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you will not question me.” Enjolras smiles tenderly, his grip on Grantaire’s hair turning into a carress. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispers.

“That’s more like it. On the bed.” He places a hand on Grantaire’s chest, gently pushing him into place, and Grantaire goes, his whole body yielding to the light touch. Grantaire settles on the bed, his legs spreading automatically, tilting his hips up so Enjolras can peel his pants off. “As I said,” Enjolras says, stroking his thigh, “beautiful.”

“Please, let me—“

“Good.” Enjolras kisses him softly. “I want you to tell me. What do you want?”

“Let me see you?”

“Of course.” Enjolras sits back a little, removing the last of his clothing. He can feel Grantaire’s eyes on him, their reverence, their passion.

“Thank you.”

Enjolras leans back over him for another kiss. He takes Grantaire’s hands, lacing their fingers together, then ever so gently pins them to the bed above Grantaire’s head. Grantaire moans into Enjolras’ mouth, and Enjolras squeezes his hands, a wordless expression of his appreciation. He moves away from Grantaire’s mouth, trailing kisses down Grantaire’s neck, finally biting sharply just above his collarbone. He digs his teeth in hard, until Grantaire whimpers in pain, then pulls away, blowing cool air over the mark. Grantaire shivers, his body pressing up into Enjolras’. 

“Shh, my love,” Enjolras murmurs, and bites him again. He shifts his hands so he’s pinning both of Grantaire’s wrists down with a single hand, his gip hard enough to hurt a little. Grantaire presses into his mouth and shifts away at the same time, wanting and recoiling from the pain. “Tomorrow,” Enjolras whispers, “Everyone is going to see the marks of my teeth on your skin.”

Grantaire moans aloud.

“Everyone is going to look at you in the streets and know you’re claimed. Our friends will see you and not be able to forget, not for a second, that you’re mine.”

“Please—“

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Take me, please—“

Enjolras kisses him softly. “I love how eager you are for me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Enjolras reaches for the oil on the bedstand, preparing his lover’s body gently. He watches Grantaire’s face as he slides his fingers in, slowing when a twinge of pain shows on his features, repeating the motion that makes Grantaire’s lips fall open in a moan of pleasure. “Beautiful,” he says again, “and so good. No one could want more than what I have found in finding you.”

Grantaire’s eyes well up with tears, and Enjolras almost panics, before Grantaire blinks them away and whispers, “I love you.”

Enjolras pulls his fingers away. “Do you think you are ready, darling?”

“Yes, sir.” Grantaire’s eyes are tearful, huge, fixed on Enjolras’ face with incredible intensity.

Enjolras braces his hands on either side of Grantaire’s shoulders and slowly presses inside him. Grantaire cries out with pleasure, spreading his legs to allow him access. At that moment, when Grantaire is at his most vulnerable, his most giving, Enjolras leans in close, so close that his lips are touching Grantaire’s ear, and says, “I love you so much. You are perfect and you are mine and I love you.”

Grantaire starts to cry in earnest, smiling even as he does so. Enjolras wipes away his tears, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. He makes love to Grantaire, slowly at first, but building up speed as Grantaire starts to move with him. He sees Grantaire awkwardly flexing his hands and moves to pin his wrists down again, and Grantaire moans and presses up against Enjolras.

“Mine,” Enjolras murmurs, fierce and reverant at the same time.

“Yours. Yours,” Grantaire repeats, as if in a reverie, his eyes half-shut, his face flushed. “Sir. Enjolras. Yours.”

He starts to move faster, thrusting hard enough that the bed moves with every press of his hips, that Grantaire’s cries become almost pained. “What do you want, love?”

“T’make you happy,” Grantaire whispers, as if he’s ashamed of it.

“You do. You always do.” Enjolras kisses him again, tenderly, sweetly and slowly, even as he’s fucking Grantaire hard enough to hurt. “My good boy.” He releases his grip on Grantaire’s wrists. “I want to watch you come,” he informs him, wrapping the newly free hand around Grantaire’s erection as he props himself up on one elbow to continue moving. His thrusts are slowed a little by the awkward positioning, but it’s worth it to watch the way Grantaire bites his lip, as if he doesn’t know what to do with the pleasure. 

“Enjolras—“

“Come for me,” Enjolras orders, his voice almost harsh. Grantaire obeys, as he always does, bucking his hips against Enjolras’ hand. Enjolras feels a spurt of warmth against his stomach as Grantaire’s body tenses, tightening around him. Grantaire calls out his name, and Enjolras watches him, watches his face contort in ecstaasy, his whole body moving with pleasure, his eyes wide and dark and his lips bitten red. He wonders how he ever could have willingly gone without the perfect sight. 

Grantaire calls out his name again, practically screaming, and Enjolras shushes him with a long, slow kiss, their mouths meeting as Enjolras follows him over the edge into orgasm.

Exhausted and contented, he pulls away a few minutes later, but just far enough to take Grantaire in his arms. Grantaire looks at him. “Sir?”

“You did so well, sweetheart. You make me so happy.”

“I love you,” Grantaire whispers, hiding his face in Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras runs a hand through his hair, tucking the other arm around his waist, and holds him close.

“I love you so much. You were perfect.” He hesitates. “Was that all right, R? Nothing you didn’t want?”

“It was amazing. Promise.”

“Good.” He kisses Grantaire’s forehead. “My good boy. You can rest now, love. Nothing to worry about. Not a care in the world. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you.”

“And I’ll be yours,” Grantaire promises, his voice quiet, almost frightened. “I love you forever. I’ll always be yours.”

“Thank you, love. You don’t know what it means to me. I don’t deserve to have your trust again, but I am grateful for it. And I promise I won’t let you down again.” 

Enjolras feels the wetness of tears against his shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. He just holds his beloved close and feels his heart beat.

After everything, Grantaire is still here, still his, still trusts him with his very soul.

Nothing matters more than that.


End file.
